General, with all thy griesly crew! Thou art worse than the blind Fury with the abhorred shears; for thou slittest my thin-spun-pay wearing spectacles, thrice branded varlet!
Dear Vanity, of course you understand that I do not allude to the amiable old gentleman who controls our Accounts Department, who is the mirror of tenderness. The person I would impale is a creation of my own wrath, a mere official type struck in frenzied fancy.
Let us soothe ourselves by contemplating the Planter and his generous, simple life. It calms one to look at him. He is something placid, strong, and easeful. Without wishing to appear obsequious, I always feel disposed to borrow money when I meet a substantial Planter. He inspires confidence. I grasp his strong hand; I take him (figuratively) to my heart, while the desire to bank with him wells up mysteriously in my bosom.
He lives in a grand old bungalow, surrounded by ancient trees. Large rooms open upon one another on every side in long vistas; a broad and hospitable-looking verandah girds all. Everywhere trophies of the chase meet
